


And Then The World Ends

by Emono



Series: Emono Does The Things [12]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Analysis, Diabetes, Jeremy's thoughts aren't politically correct, M/M, and young, he's very human, tags and warnings might change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Jeremy doesn't need help. He can do this all on his own. He doesn't need hand outs and he certainly doesn't need pity. That is, until he can't, and he crumbles under the pressure.





	

Jeremy had been a fat kid all the way up into his late teens. He sat on his ass and ate whole boxes of Poptarts as a snack and did whatever he wanted. He never gave a thought to his body because no one was looking at him anyway. He had chubby cheeks and patchy facial hair with a flat ass and a thick belly. No one cared about him and he didn’t care about anyone.

 

When he was twenty, he stepped on the scale and saw he was pushing two hundred and fifty pounds. It was a revelation, a reckoning. He decided right there and then in his dingy single apartment bathroom that he would  _ not  _ be That Person. He wasn’t going to be a flabby, unhealthy butterball for the rest of his life. He made heavy, gradual lifestyle changes with the fiercest determination he’d ever felt. He’d gone through exercising fads before but this time he made a commitment. 

 

Jeremy bought exercise clothes and a heartrate monitor along with running shoes. He did extensive research on the best exercises to target his problem areas and joined a quiet, out-of-the-way gym so he could avoid crowds. He changed up his eating habits completely. Slowly but surely he cut down his portions and added more color to his meals. He watched every Gordon Ramsay Youtube video and Google searched ways to make basic dishes - steak and potatoes, spaghetti, burgers, all his favorite stuff but at home. Canned and fresh vegetables started showing up in the kitchen along with tons of protein. He cut down on soda a little but mostly he upped his water intake. He was always thirsty and his indifference to ice water became an undeniable craving. He started to go on walks that developed eventually into brief sprints. He did some yoga along with it just to wake his muscles up from years of dormancy. 

 

When he started lifting weights is when he fell in love. He drooled over pictures of fit gymnasts and MMA fighters, saying silent prayers of strength as he hit the gym twice as hard as before. He made sure to do his research to keep it safe but he was determined to get buff. He wanted to like his body, he wanted to be comfortable in his own skin for the first time in his life. 

 

It didn’t happen overnight but over the course of six months he toned up, he shed pounds. His eating habits changed with hard work and soon he was naturally eating half the portions he used to. He still felt tired and thirsty a lot but he’d always been like that.

 

Jeremy finally got some Medicaid and decided he needed a general check up. His family had a long history of terrible conditions so he wanted to be on top of them. He went in and got some blood drawn and basically sat on his hands for a week before he was called back. They had some shocking results for him and he didn’t exactly react well when blindsided.

 

“Diabetic?” Jeremy barked at the doctor, lips already set in a snarl. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve lost sixty pounds in half a year. I take care of myself! This is  _ bullshit _ .”

 

The doctor calmly but surely explained to him how this could be from any number of factors despite how much he was now taking care of himself. Type 2, and he’d probably had it since he was young. He would have to check his blood sugar regularly and go on medication. He would need regular doctor visits and would have to maintain and maybe it could be treatable. 

 

Shaken but angry, Jeremy went along with it. He had to get over his fear of needles and started sticking himself, writing his numbers in a stupid little journal. He got some metformin and took it how he was supposed to despite his reservations. It ended up knocking him on his ass at work. His sugar levels dipped down into the seventies like a normal person’s would but each time it felt like he was getting the air knocked out of him. He functioned with high numbers even if he felt tired but getting dizzy and having to sit down...it made him feel weak.

 

He tossed the meds in the trash a week later despite the doctor’s protest. He never went back.

 

Jeremy tossed his glucose meter in the trash and went about his life for the next few years. He joked about being diabetic and made cracks about comas as he stuffed his face with starches and sugars without regard. He drank as much soda as he wanted, binged on cookies, and scarfed down meal bars whenever he couldn’t find anything else. Sugary, iced coffees were his lifeblood but he made sure to pair them with large cups of ice water. The back of his truck got cluttered up with McDonalds bags and Rockstar cans. His condition sat in the back of his mind, noted but largely ignored. 

 

He started to doubt if he was diabetic at all. The morning he should’ve been fasting he’d eaten a handful of mini Reese Cups and it cast a shadow of doubt on the numbers the doctor had shown him. Tests were wrong, doctors were wrong. Anything he had could be managed with diet and exercise, he was sure of it. He was too young to worry about shit like that anyways. Medicine was for after thirty.

 

He was young and free and twenty four, no one could tell him anything.

 

That is, until he got gonorrhea when he was twenty four.

 

o0o

 

Jeremy sat on the cold, papered bed of the ER room with nothing but his phone and a thin hospital gown. There was a sharp rap on the door before it opened. He barely glanced up from Pokemon GO before he went back to sorting his Pidgeys.

 

“Mr. Dooley, we found something in your urine.”

 

“The clap?” he asked dully.

 

“No. We ran your sample and you have a  _ lot _ of glucose spilling into your urine.”

 

Jeremy sighed and put down the phone. “I know. I told the front desk guy, the nurse, the second nurse, and  _ you  _ that I’m Type Two.”

 

The doctor winced and he frowned. “Even for a Type Two diabetic, your levels are alarming. I’d like to have blood drawn as soon as possible. We have a cart set up for you.”

 

Jeremy scrubbed a hand over his eyes with a groan. He had less than two hours before he had to be at work. He’d come to the ER at six AM to avoid the problem of having to call in and it was nearly eight AM now. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept well the night before, he was hungry, thirsty, and he’d hoped to squeeze in a nap before he had to head into the office.

 

“I would really rather not.”

 

“Mr. Dooley, these levels are alarming.”   
  


“Yeah, I get it, I’m dying,” Jeremy snapped with unnecessary venom. 

 

“Do I have to scare you?” she countered. “With these numbers, you could be blind by thirty. It could be eating at your eyes right this second. Your kidneys could be and probably are suffering and have been hindered for quite some time with numbers like this. Diabetes can be a killer, Mr. Dooley. It will take your feet, your fingers, and neuropathy could set in at any age.”

 

“I would  _ really  _ rather not,” Jeremy hissed, hands balled up in his lap.

 

The woman’s lips pursed into a frustrated white line before she left without a word. A few minutes later there was another quick knock before the second nurse he’d seen today came in. “Mr. Dooley? Dr. Zech asked me to talk to you about the glucose in your urine. Sir, I don’t think you understand how high these levels are. You said you haven’t eaten or drank anything other than water this morning so this is  _ particularly  _ alarming.”   
  


Frustrated tears built up in Jeremy’s eyes and when he spoke it was through tightly grit teeth. “Can I please just get the medicine for my stupid decision?”

 

“Mr. Dooley-”   
  


“I don’t have time for this, I don’t even have enough money to see a real doctor. That’s why I’m here.” He gestured around him. “I need to get to work. So if I could just get the treatment I came for, that would be great.”   
  


It was awfully rude but he was so tired he couldn’t muster concern when he felt so washed out. 

 

o0o

 

Jeremy got his medicine with no problem and Medicaid kicked in well enough to cover everything. He tried to ignore the whole incident but the doctor’s words and tone kept coming back to him. He’d be trying to fix someone’s computer at the repair shop he worked and and suddenly her urgency would return, the concern in her eyes sticking with him. He tried to go on with his everyday life but the more he walked, the more he realized he was tired  _ everyday _ . He complained about it all the time and his naps after work weren’t because he didn’t sleep the night before but because he was just too tired to stay awake any longer. It was a sick revelation.

 

He dusted off his meter and started testing again. His numbers were insane. Four hundreds, five hundreds, by the end of the day it was so bad the meter couldn’t even give him a number. He looked it up and apparently anything over three hundred was worthy of calling a doctor. 

 

After two weeks and one incident at work where he had to go home early because he felt like shit, Jeremy gave in and made an appointment with a family doctor.

 

o0o

 

Jeremy was so painfully dumb when it came to medical procedures. He liked to know what was expected of him and he was at a loss the entire time. The front nurse was curt and cold, asking him an endless stream of questions while taking his weight, temperature, and blood pressure. Thankfully her stint was brief and soon he got a secondary nurse with a glucose meter.

 

“I’m just going to check your blood,” she announced cheerfully as she unzipped the case and prepped the meter. The lancer was wider than Jeremy was used to but he obediently held out his hand. He trusted this procedure, he trusted her, but that was a mistake. The device felt like it had Bedazzled his hand and he tried to rip his hand back but she held tight, milking his finger for blood. She put the test strip to it and as soon as she released him he put his hand to his chest.

 

“That hurt.”

 

“It was only a prick, honey.”

 

“No, that  _ really  _ hurt,” Jeremy explained, baffled by how bad his finger was throbbing. “I brought my meter.”

 

“Our meters are much more accurate than store brand.”

 

“Yeah but my lancer doesn’t do  _ this _ .” He brandished his red finger and he knew already it was going to bruise. She leveled him with a look that shut him up but his glare was searing. When she left he only had a long wait and stinging finger to occupy him. A med student came next, a bright bubbly girl named Lindsay, and he told her everything she wanted to know. His diet, his symptoms, his diagnosis a few years ago, his weightloss, everything. She made a shit-ton of notes and it was a little unnerving

 

“Okay,” Lindsay chirped, hopping off the stool with a bright smile. “I’ll go talk to Dr. Sorola and he’ll be right in.”

 

The wait was much shorter this time.

 

“Mr. Dooley,” Dr. Sorola greeted as he sat down and put his medical laptop on the table. “How are you today?”  
  
  
“Fine.” Jeremy watched Lindsay slip back into the room and close the door, getting the first tendrils of unease in his gut.

 

“So you got diagnosed with Type Two a few years ago and you were taking medicine?”  
  
  
“Briefly, yes.”

 

His judging eyes felt like lead and he had to look away. “And you stopped because?”   
  


“Because I didn’t think I needed it. I didn’t think it was that bad.”

 

“Unfortunately I am here today to tell you it is,” Dr. Sorola clipped out, studying the numbers on the screen. “Your blood sugar was one forty last time you were here, today it’s two eighty. You’ve gotten worse since then by far. You shouldn’t be waking up with these numbers.”  
  
  
It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before and he barely managed to stop an eyeroll. 

 

“The fact that you’re on your feet at all with the numbers you’ve described is a miracle. No fainting spells? Not ever?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“I’m going to have to refer you to a specialist for a re-diagnosis,” Dr. Sorola stated firmly, typing something down. “I won’t have a messy diagnosis.”

 

“You could even be Type One,” Lindsay cut in with a smile.

 

Jeremy’s throat closed up.

 

“We’ll do some bloodwork but after you see the specialist, you’ll be prescribed insulin.”

 

Jeremy’s stomach bottomed out and bile seared up his throat. His vision narrowed and fuzzed up, head suddenly stuffed with wet cotton. Dr. Sorola kept talking but he couldn’t hear it anything. In one ear and out the other as his gaze dropped to the tiled floor. It was a powerful, overwhelming feeling and he’d never felt so sick so quick in his entire life. He held back tears but they burned his eyes. He nodded and confirmed at all the right times but he couldn’t tell anymore what he was agreeing to. 

 

Before he knew it, he was at the front desk scheduling another appointment and getting the sheet for his bloodwork. He knew he must’ve looked crazy, flushed and staring at his shoes, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head or his voice. He walked out of the clinic and the crisp, autumn air kissed his cheeks. The weather was so nice, overcast with the promise of rain. He’d chosen his softest, comfiest clothes for this and he was glad. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be holding up on a blindingly hot day in jeans.

 

The lab was down the sidewalk and he walked in with a heart full of dread. The two ladies behind the desk were plump and motherly with cute cartoon characters on their scrubs. They had weathered, rouged faces that were kind and smiled at him as they asked for his information. He was led over to a chair and he sat down before his knees gave out. She talked him through the procedure but he wasn’t listening. His breath came in ragged draws and he kept his gaze down, afraid to look her in the face and see his distress reflected back at him. 

 

Jeremy’s breath hitched in a choked sob as she tenderly took his left arm and laid it on the padded stand. She rubbed a cold alcohol wipe over his inner arm and promised it wouldn’t hurt and that she would be gentle. She wrapped his arm in the rubber tie to make the veins visible and he felt something physically  _ crack  _ inside him.

 

_ This is it. This is going to be the rest of my life. An endless string of doctor’s visits, insulin shots, tubes and tubes of blood. I’ll get put on a fucking pump. I'm going to fuck up, I'm going to do too much. I'm going to be a fucking invalid. It's going to break me off in pieces and I won't be able to read when it takes my eyes. How am I supposed to do anything by myself? Insulin. Insulin.  _ **_Insulin_ ** _. Fuck. _

 

“Oh God,” Jeremy whined, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he tried to block out the too-bright light. His breath came in another shaky puff and was starting to lose it.

 

“You okay, honey?” she crooned softly.

 

“Y-Yeah, yeah,” he lied. “I just hate needles.”

 

“Ah, honey, it’ll be okay. It’ll only hurt for a second. I’ll be real quick and only take what we need.”

 

Jeremy was usually terrified of getting his blood drawn but he didn’t even feel the needle. There was a faint pull and usually just the thought made him gag but he was overcome. His chest hitched loudly and then the tears came. 

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Jeremy stuttered out, the faint pressure of blood leaving making his stomach churn. “I’m just - I can’t really..”

 

The nurse spoke in a low, hushed whisper. “Tammy, can you come here and hold this? I don’t want to keep sticking him and this veins too small. Jeremy, honey, this might bruise.”

 

Jeremy tamped down his sobs as the other woman came up and held something. He kept his head turned away, he couldn’t look at them. He knew their faces were full of warm pity and he couldn’t take it. He apologized over and over, the words tumbling from his quivering lips as he tried to keep himself calm. He was screwing up something he wasn’t even doing. All he had to do was be calm and let these women do their job and he was failing horrifically. 

 

“It’s okay, honey.”

 

“ _ No _ , no it  _ won’t _ .”

 

“We’re about halfway done now. Just a minute more. You’re doing great.”

 

“God, I’m so fucking sorry,” Jeremy cursed as he tried to keep from moving his arm as he sobbed. He tried to make himself stop but he couldn’t. Everything was spilling over and the tears fell in thick streams down his cheeks, falling onto the tile beside the chair. He finally spoke but the words were broken up, hitched and breathless as he pushed them out. “The doctor said I’m probably Type One, that I’m sick. I’m too young to be this sick! I-I’m…”

 

“Doctors are wrong all the time,” the second nurse assured him with that same gentle tone that only scratched the surface of his sorrow.

“I l-lost so much weight and I work out. I’m not a fucking fat kid anymore!” he wailed, dissolving into pathetic sobs as he dug the heel of his palm into his eyes. I’m only twenty four! I’m - I’m only twenty four I-I don’t...I'm o-only  _twenty four_ , I don't want to take  _ insulin _ ."

 

The last word came out in a long, pained whine as he double over on himself. They cooed over him and rubbed his back as he cried, handing him tissues. One of them closed the privacy screen but there was no doubt what was going on. Jeremy’s thoughts were a sharp whirlwind and he spiraled, crying into his knees and begging for it all to be untrue. He couldn’t be this sick, he couldn’t be. Why hadn’t he listened? Why hadn’t he taken care of himself?

 

It was too late for all that now. He was branded now and there was no way he could shake it with just diet and exercise.  _ My life is over. _


End file.
